Driving on the Big Island

I’m not staring at my arm and hand but chiseling it and every other sense that goes with it at this moment onto memory. The place I’m in, mmmm, it’s so good and there is no one more aware of how fleeting it is than me. This will last, the hairs on my arm stand up and shake with the wind. The skin underneath, touching the black metal, burns. The blue sky and green trees reflect off the passenger rear window, blurred because I want it to be. Suns stare directly at me, burning, but I can’t move because of this mindset. I don’t want to move. I want a scar from this, something tangible but the memory will suffice. Air this thick with sea salt and flowery sweetness doesn’t come by easily but it came to me. I’m supposed to be here. The connection was on purpose. Please don’t slow down. Please don’t let those crashing diamonds let me go. They’re all I have and want right now. A canopy of green has never stolen my breath away quiet like this before. How far up should I make it go? The rooms you’ve made for me go on forever until I fly though.